mixed feelings
I am not a poet, I am just a designer of words
Architect of sentences the way I form and merge
Paragraphs together that force emcees to submerge
With an urge to break free of this biracial jail cell
Feast on my memories, please come and taste this
Papa was a black man, mama was a racist
Growing up she called me nigga, kids called me cracker
While the whites got whiter, and the blacks got blacker
I was hurting, doing everything I can
Perceived as a white boy with the soul of a black man
Goddamn, looking up to Malcolm X
Studying his speeches, underlining text
How can I be white devil if my parents had sex?
'Cause I'm black and I'm white
And I'm proud of every word that I recite
I know my roots, I know my past
I know the issue of my race ain't gonna last
We all breathe the same air and bleed the same blood
And when we die, the same ditch gets dug
I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream... One day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."